Old Black Magic
by iozeal
Summary: There's isn't much that lives in shadow that steel can't best. But at odd times, magic is a necessity.
1. Chapter 1

Atlantic City was a cool place to be at. All the glamour, money, alcohol - scratch the last part. That would just get him in more trouble than he'd care to admit. With no chaperone there's no telling what sort of mayhem he'd bring upon the town. Nah, he'd stay in his Ford pulling a nine hour surveillance on a small store in Eschborn, Vermont. Small town, small people, small minds… he had to stop watching reruns of old westerns.

Mental checklist marked.

In any case, Garth Fitzgerald (the Fourth) had been in the small town for about a week, looking at local lore in case it was a pagan god, tracking any major groups in case it was a pack or coven of some sort. Nothing – this town was completely human. Usually beasties liked the seclusion, hiding out of sight from the large public. Made them easier to spot, never sensed the logic in that respect.

From the start he had been scratching his head wondering how to tie all the facts together. Six missing – two found partially digested in their own homes – whatever started on them was interrupted. At first he thought that maybe there was another hunter, but he hadn't seen any familiar faces, and after calling around no one was even in a 250 mile radius of the area.

The victims didn't have anything in common, different doctors, different jobs, different toothpaste. (He checked) That is he thought there was nothing, not until he saw that all of them had bought a vial of _something_ that sat on their drawers. All with the discrete label of 'Black's Remedies'.

Further digging showed that Black's Remedies was a shop on the main street of Eschborn, run by a Harrison Black. Who surprise, surprise arrived a year ago. Wasn't a social sort by far, only thing that anyone could tell him about the denizen of 46 Poplar ave. was that he makes a mean hangover cure. But that wasn't the weirdest thing – he did some digging, this guy has been all over the eastern seaboard for the last twenty years, and he sure as bozo's red nose didn't look like he was in his forties.

Maybe twenty-two at best. No something was definitely off with him, something dark and- for the love of- Garth switched off the soft rock, nine hours would make anyone batty.

So far seven people came and went – none screaming in agony or followed by anything insidious. His cellphone vibrated, pumping out a bright jingle.

"Agent Hanson speaking." FBI was a more rehearsed role, a simple responce when they asked who he was, he panicked. He was going to go for something classier, something more James Bond – but the first thing that popped into his head was FBI and the guy from Easy Rider.

"This is Detective Brown, you said to contact you if uh, there were any more."

Garth straightened in his seat, usually the attacks were later, even if it was almost nine he didn't expect one so soon. He looked back to the store – amber lighting still escaping from its heavy curtained windows.

"Have there been Detective?"

There was almost silence, broken suddenly by the sound of retching on the other end.

"Yeah. There's more left this time. Whoever this was, I'm seriously starting to doubt he's human."

The light within the store went out, and Harrison Black exited through the front door, locking it up. Maybe today was a waste of time. Whatever Black was he was at least in control, and able to cohabitate with the human population.

Garth rolled up his window. Still, he'd deal with him. Later. After he looked at the crime scene, maybe this one would hold more clues. Stepping on the gas he drove off, catching the sudden snap of Black's neck – as though he was waiting for him to leave.

"What's the address?"

"117 Pine Drive." The detective coughed. "We'd appreciate if you come sooner rather than later sir. We're having a hard time with the family, they keep saying they've been seeing flying animals."

"I'm already on my way. Flying animals?" Garth asked, voice pitching up on the last half.

"Yeah, the kid keeps saying she saw Bambi prancing around the house before her father – you'll see when you get here." Brown hung up after, leaving Garth to slowly absorb the information presented to him.

Didn't take long to arrive at the scene of crime. Wading through the sea of cars was a different matter. Badge in his breast pocket, gun in holster – he was a ready agent, better than the real thing if he had to say himself. Officers were gathered around the entrance, all looking greener than the other. The child and mother were sitting in the ambulance, paramedics trying to get them to do breathing exercises.

For good reason he discovered! One foot in the house and the stench hit him straight in the face. In the living room there was a plastered mess of entrails, muscle, and soggy bones, all in pieces. Parts of Garth's stomach's contents started to post bail – covertly he exited to get some fresh air.

Nothing new, just more chewed up mess. He leaned forward on the bushes, ready at any time to complete the goal his insides had decided against his consent.

"Maybe he's using chemicals in their own home." Brown commented from behind him.

Garth quickly recovered. "There'd be more blood, and the bones wouldn't be so gross." He caught the glance the detective sent his way.

"Be so deformed." He clarified. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go speak to…" They haven't given him the names.

" Mrs. Gertz ." Brown supplied.

" . I knew that." He shot back, nose slightly raised in air, it would have been comical, if not for the scene inside.

Approaching the mother and daughter he observed them. just wouldn't do the trick for this. Compassion and empathy. That was the ticket to this one.

" Madam, I know this will be difficult for you, but I need to get a statement from you before you and your daughter go to the hospital."

The woman was in her late thirties, brown curly hair, with equally warm eyes which were now splattered and washed with red. She was on the wiry side, she could probably land him on his ass if she tried.

"We've already give one-"

"Yes I understand, but it's a whole difference with divisions and jurisdiction." He explained as softly as he could.

She seemed to mull it over, wiping her eyes for what seemed like the tenth time he had seen her.

"I heard Jack screaming from first floor, I ran downstairs. I didn't see anything. Just Jack – I didn't see-" She chocked back a sob, and buried her face into the blanket that was wrapped around her.

"I didn't see _anything._" She hissed, her voice breaking at the end.

Garth's heart instantly felt like it started to break a little. He hated living monsters. Looking at the daughter she didn't seem any better.

"Are you sure mam?"

"I saw a deer." The girl spoke, voice soft enough to almost be drowned out by the police and cars.

"A deer?" Asked Garth, bending in half to meet her eyes.

"A big glowy one." She mumbled, rubbing her face into her mother's arm.

"Did you see where it came from?" He asked, large eyes trying to meet hers.

She finally made contact, then after a moment of deliberation nodded. "It ran through the window, and chased the dark away."

Now that sounded something he could actually research. "Thank you." He nodded, and started back to the Ford, as he opened the door he saw Harrison Black standing outside of the yellow tape – with an expression that he could only call empty.

* * *

AN: And so that's chapter one, obviously I don't hold any rights to supernatural or harry potter  
please leave a review to either inform me of what you like, and what I can improve on, that would be greatly appreciated  
thank you


	2. Chapter 2

Garth pushed the tainted window door forward, a small bell rang overhead. Overall the store was much more spacious than it looked from the outside. The dimensions were downright unreal!

There were wall upon wall of bottles. Some filled with bright almost radiant fluid, others with grime and what looked to be rusted paint. Herbs hung from the ceiling, all excreting a different odor, all mixing together to create the harmoniously pungent aroma of the store.

Moving his eyes over the store merchandise Garth caught a few canisters that seemed different from all the rest. Putting his palms over his knees he leaned in to get a better look. The whites of the jar almost looked like …

"Holy crabs."

Those were eyes. Maybe not human, but definitely eyes, the squishy ones that animals used for watching. Those.

The acting FBI agent straightened up, back almost rod straight. This was definitely not what you'd generally find. Hold on, was that aconite?

Aconite was popular with witches, and Black definitely fit the witch profile. Loner, doesn't really age, smells strange, wait. Garth's musings were once again cut short by the baby hanging upside down from the ceiling. Eyes rounding and prepared to kick down the door and Garth this asshole, he noticed the skin of said child was root-like, brown and winding.

What did Bobby call them again? Ma-Mandrakes. That's right; witches liked using them for instant deaths, and other medicines.

"Can I help you?"

Garth looked down and saw Harrison Black staring at him through his dark glasses.

Gaunt, weary, cold, he wasn't especially tall; given the height he couldn't be taller than Crowley was. Dressed in dark clothing he seemed to blend in with the already poorly lit shop. Garth could tell that Black was watching him carefully, and there was no warmth in those green eyes. At least none that he could detect.

"Yeah, I'm-"

"The FBI agent, I know." He pulled his chin back, observing him. Garth felt like he was cornered by something – this guy definitely didn't have many passive traits.

"Like I said before, Can I help you?"

Garth blinked and shrugged his shoulders with forced arrogance.

"I don't know, can you?"

The cold expression seemed to extinguish as a slow grin formed on Black's face.

"Depends on what you ask. Not sure if I have a maturation enhancement, or anything that can give you any credence as FBI."

"Hey! I'm real FBI!" Now that sounded just weak, why did he totally screw up?

"Really?" Black asked, his eyebrow quirked, and the subtle grin had become a full tooth-filled smirk.

"Really." Garth emphasized, meeting the shop-keeper's eyes with as much stead-fast conviction as he could muster. And he knew perfectly well that the guy wasn't buying it.

"You know I think it's a crime to impersonate any law enforcers." Black commented, leaning back on the oak counter.

Yeah, this wasn't going as planned.

"So is hindering an investigation Mr. Black, I need you to answer some questions." Garth crossed his arms across his chest.

"Feeling defensive are we?" Black jeered. "FBI are required to have standard vehicles, not the retro shit you have." The British accent came back heavy.

"From Britain I see." Garth said in his best observational tone.

"Aren't you the hottest stuff since Sherlock?"

Garth uncrossed his arms and reached for his gun, dragging it out of its holster and aiming it at Black.

"Well that escalated quickly." He scoffed, raising his hands in a sort of yielding intention.

"I know you gave Rottman, and Reinman the potions. Sanders and Koltz too." Black's mirth died down, he didn't make any move however

"Remedies, not potions." There was a definite wince there.

"Tell that to your coven, witch."

Something formed in Garth's throat that made him almost want to turn back time for a bit, and take that back. Cause the face that Black made only confirmed that he hit the jackpot.

"Pardon?"

"You heard me, witch."

And again!

Black didn't drop his arms to his credit, didn't help that his face contorted into sheer fury.

"Just because I make tonics-"

"Potions" Garth corrected, the stink eye that Harrison gave him could have killed Cousin IT.

"Doesn't make me a witch. It's because of thinking like that Salem ever got the reputation that it did!"

"Don't change the fact that you have a bottle of eel eyes, mandrakes and tiger liver-"

This time it was Black's chance to interrupt, lips stretching to an almost grimace. "Dragon Liver. If you're going to point out components of my practice, do it right."

Garth's mouth sort of hung open, unable to decide whether it wanted to close or fall straight to the ground. It was an odd situation, having a beastie just admit to its own crime, usually they sort of just tried to wring your neck and break for the nearest exit.

"You've also missed the Horklump juice, Wormwood and Shrivelfigs." He paused as he dropped his hands. "Among other things."

"I didn't kill anyone. I've sold to almost everyone in this town, if my product was the cause there'd be nothing left."

Garth took a moment to absorb this information. He licked his lips and met Black's green eyes.

"Then what did you sell to them?"

Harry's exasperated face made an encore appearance. "Nothing they couldn't get from a local pharmacy. Mostly painkillers, sleeping draughts, there were a few who wanted love potions but I don't deal with any serious ones, just the pheromone enhancement ones. The kind even a child could accomplish given enough detergent and sand."

There really wasn't any more point in keeping him at gunpoint, so Garth slid his weapon back into the holster. Take that Winchesters, no one died, or branded him a mortal enemy. He caught Black staring into his coat which had quite a few sigils embroidered on it, never could be too prepared.

"Hunter. Brilliant." Harrison scoffed. Garth gave him a sort of strange look, did he expect him to be a travelling salesperson who had an interest in the occult? Then again there probably other parties who wouldn't mind offing a witch.

"Now , what do you know of the murders?" Garth started, a little extra bounce in his step from his ongoing success. He had this witch pinned to the wall, and odds are he knew something or other.

"No! Don't tell me we're back to this again?" He complained, shooting him with Garth could only label as misery.

"Yeah, why not? Mean you're not evil, I don't have to Garth you" Harrison brows dropped, and eyes rolled to the side. "But you probably know what's been causing the ruckus around town. And I've never seen-"

"It's a Lethifold." Black admitted. "You can't kill it, because it can't be killed."

Now that sounds like a Winchester scenario. "If it's corporeal it can be killed." Garth reassured him.

"It's not corporeal. It can be expelled, you can't kill something that was never alive to begin with. It shouldn't even be this far north."

"Why not? Does it like warmer climates?"

Black shrugged, and leaned against the cabinet. "Obviously. It has a difficult time manifesting in colder temperatures, not enough humidity."

Garth absorbed the information. "Then how do you know if it's a real Lethifold?" He really needed to research more, not only did he have no clue that was going on, but

Black stopped cold, staring at him as if he's been caught for something.

"What?"

The witch's eyes widened, Garth knew a Eureka moment when he saw one.

"If it doesn't exist on this plane, it should exist in another. Otherwise it shouldn't manifest."

Witches, he knew they loved to speak in riddles but this was just wrong. He couldn't even follow because he had no idea what he was even talking about.

"It can be sealed in an alternate existence; it'd be just a shadow here." Black started to rub his hands excitedly, all hostility somehow vaporized. He spun on his heal and reached for the back wall which had rows upon rows of books plastered together, fingers flying over the spines looking for the right one. Garth instantly got a little twitchy. It's not books were in any way dangerous by themselves, they were dangerous in the hands of certain people.

"Aha!"

Garth watched as Black pulled out a thick _furry_ book and slammed it on the counter beside the register. Leaning in Garth tried to read the title, what in the end stopped him were the two pairs of black glassy eyes staring back at him. It was possessed! How in –

"Monster book of Monsters. Knew I didn't burn it for a reason."

There was a low rumble that permeated with the air.

"Did that book just growl at me?" Garth asked, eyes somewhat rounded in apprehension.

"With a name like 'The Monster Book of Monsters' did you expect it to sing?"

Garth made a face. "Alright, so what do we do?"

"I will look for a tracing spell that can track it in here first. After we find it, I can use a dimension slip to move its position."

"Yeah but what can I do?" Garth corrected.

"Why you have the most important role of all."

Garth raised an eyebrow, from the sound of Black's plan he wasn't doing much.

"Bait."

* * *

AN: Second chapter, as you can tell it's not on the best side, considering its exam time and I should really ...really... get back to linear algebra review  
Anyway, I hope you have fun reading this one


	3. Chapter 3

This was a horrible idea. A shit-storm about to go wrong, pardon his language. Oh who cared? He was crammed in the back of Black's Ford Pinto (and he criticized his care choices?), along with a cauldron, and whatever that had cooled at the base of it. It looked like it couldn't make up its mind between breakfast and lunch, and smelled about as pleasant as the gall bladders that Black used to make it.

What made it worse is that whenever the tires hit a bump in the road the entire car seemed to jump a meter or two in the air.

"This car should be compounded." Or condemned, take your pick. Though there was something in the back of Garth's mind that wanted to see this car torched, and blown up.

Black didn't take his eyes of the thinning road. Following the silver line that spanned over the night's sky, leading them to the current location of the lethifold.

"I don't drive; this car was bought to keep up appearances." He remarked, as though to justify his choice in vehicle.

"Besides, this was the cheapest, and for that purposes –"

"Wait, you don't drive?" Garth interrupted latching onto what he thought was the key piece of information, possibly because his heart was on the verge of exploding. This was like the setup of a bad joke. He was stuck with an incompetent witch in a car with god knows what in the back. He was a dead man, who didn't even get to call his special lady before he set foot into this metal death trap.

"Calm down, I know the principles. I've seen it done before."

Garth's eyebrows started to travel upwards, as though to find refuge in his hair. Seen it down before? How many times?

"Stop the car, I'm getting out here." Garth hiccupped.

"Don't bloody make a scene, no one's died." Black chuckled blithely.

Garth darkly added a 'yet' to that statement.

"And you're still fine. We're almost there." As if it made it any better. Anything could happen in the next few meters, much more in another three blocks.

Eschborn looked like a much bigger place from the back of this Pinto. He'd have more respect for sure.

"Why are you even fighting this thing? Most witches would just high-tail it out of a town."

There was a silence, with only the squeaking of the wheels of the car to put ambiance into the air.

"I'm not most witches."

Garth pressed himself back against the seat, watching the way Black's head inclined against the back of the driver's seat to get a better look at the guide.

"What kind are you?"

There was a point to this, if he was a demon worshiper it would bring around a whole new world of ugly and confusing.

At first Black didn't answer, he mulled it over. When they reached the intersection he finally spoke up.

"I've been using magic my entire life-kind. No deals, no vows."

Garth whistled from the back. It's been itching in the back of his head for a while, ever since he touched base with the Winchesters.

"Ever hear of the Starks?"

Black barked out a laugh. "Just because I'm a witch doesn't mean I know every other spell-caster on the planet."

He paused and made a left. "But I do know them. They were my connection with this side of the pond. Set me up in Miami first, then after that didn't work out they moved me around some."

"Why? Aren't they on the batty side?"

The witch lolled his head side to side. "I have a reputation that most won't turn down."

"Is that reputation… good or bad?" Garth asked slowly. Slowly enough for the light of the street lamp to flicker. Black's eyes picked it up first. Turning to the back he looked at the thin hunter with urgency.

"Get out, and stand in center, put the cauldron in front ."

"What are you gonna do? Don't you need this?"

Black shook his head, eyes travelling around the street trying to sort out shadow and movement from the stillness.

"That's the beehive." A confused look from the hunter caused him to squint his eyes, as if observing him for possible brain damage. "You're the honey."

There was something unnerving being compared to a non-sentient food-source of a metaphorical non-corporeal bear.

"OUT." Black ground out, Garth followed through this time. Stumbling out of the car and splashing in the puddles left by the rain, positioned the cauldron in the center like discussed and waited. Eyes roaming around trying to pinpoint where the attack could come from.

"You sure this will work?" Garth yelled, Black slammed his head against the steering wheel in exasperation. What? He wasn't the worst partner he could think of! Mean, there had to be worse ones.

There never was any solid warning, there was a roll of wind, a screech that whistled through the air, but the next thing Garth say was a flapping of darkness. As soon as this started, there was a spark of clear blue from the direction of the Pinto – next thing he knew antlers bared against the dark pushing it to and from location.

It was trapped. Garth watched with fascination as what looked to be a stag confining the beastie.

"You fine?"

Garth nodded, looking at Black who was reaching towards the black mass. The sudden connection, the girl saw the deer –

"What is that?"

"Patronus. It's the only thing that works against these bloody things. Stand back."

Garth didn't as much stand back as he was pushed aside by the witch, nearly landing flat on his precious buttocks.

A flash of lightning ricochet through the darkness. Lightning, but no thunder followed. Again, and again – the fight between the two creatures was almost deathly silent, there wasn't any jeers from either side, no cries of pain, no incantations, nothing to even indicate a struggle. Nothing until Garth noticed the rubble at his feet edging away from Black in ripples. Pushed back by some force that he was commanding.

The lightning grew brighter, illuminating the darkness, a plane of glass seemed to barricade as it tried to push through, massive teeth pressed against the flat surface, trying to get at Black.

One final shock burned the Lethifold, weaving the glass shut.

"Wh-"

"Don't speak." Black hissed. Garth wasn't about to argue but found his mouth clicking into motion without much intent.

"Does speaking trigger some counter-spell?"

The look on the witch's face looked about as confused as Garth was at the moment.

"You play too much D&D. I just don't want to hear anything for the next few hours, not after the storm that thing put up."

Now it was his turn to mirror the same emotion. "What storm? You ganked it as if it had a mute button!"

"You didn't-? Right, muggles."

Now he wasn't sure if that was an insult or a statement. It sure sounded derogatory, or slang.

"Don't worry about it, it should wear off soon."

"Come on man, lets get you home." Garth mumbled, swinging Black's arm over his shoulders. The witch obliged, not before shrinking the cauldron and pocketing it. Which was beyond awesome, wonder if there was somewhat to do that to the Winchester gun supply, hide it in the folds of their car or something when they weren't looking.

"Hold on, how do you know where I live?"

Garth's eyes found Black's and just smiled. "My hunter skills are unmatched."

All he got was a disbelieving eyebrow, the asshole.

* * *

AN: Well exams are finally over! And I can actively write, and perhaps give this a more serious overtone, rather than the lighthearted goofy one I have going now, we'll see. Hopefully you enjoyed this chapter, and I will have more thought things in the future! Thanks to everyone who reviewed


	4. Chapter 4

The drive was calmer, pressed together between two walls of the car, and the unfortunate back that Black was pressed to. Garth was obviously the designated driver, as if he'd let the exhausted witch behind the wheel again. His home wasn't much to look at; it didn't look lived in, nor was their much to comment on, odds are everything he had was kept at the shop. Still, Garth couldn't stop looking over every detail, sort of expected more.

"You know I'm not a dragon, what did you expect? A nest with carcasses hanging from the ceiling?" Black hissed as he sat down on the couch.

"No, but a pile of gold wouldn't have hurt." Garth mumbled as he observed the winding ceiling.

"As much as I enjoyed Tolkien, there are some things he just got plain wrong bout dragons."

Garth's eyes fell on him faster than a ton of bricks would have been able to. "Wait, dragons exist? Thought they were a legend."

Harrison chuckled into his nose, raised an arm and pointed at a bookshelf on the side wall.

"Look on the box." Garth gave him an expression that was disbelief and concern all in one.

"If you're telling me that you have a … dragon in a box, you might need-"

"What's wrong with you?" Black almost looked scandalized. "It's not a dragon it's a photo."

Garth's nodded and approached the thin box and looked inside. Within it a stack of shots, all black and white, and all moving. At first he thought his eyes were just unused to the strange lighting, or rather the lack of it in this home, but no. All of the photos were moving, in the back of his mind he had already considered trapped souls, possession, and animation spells.

Seeing as how Black didn't seem to practice of the dark arts. Hmm … irony?

All of the sudden something snapped at him through the glossed paper, causing him to fumble with them. The witch rolled his eyes, waved a hand and they organized themselves on the coffee table beside him.

"Should have figured you'd drop em soon as you got to that one."

Garth carefully approached the spread. His eyes quickly caught on to the one that disturbed him. There on the front of the photo sat Black, with a circling griffin, or at least that's what he thought it was. Below was a caption.

"Auror Potter forms Griffin Squad."

Garth looked closer, really he didn't change, well he looked more lively then.

"Auror Potter? I thought your name was Harrison Black." Not to mention he sounded like Sleeping Beauty, _Aurora._ Maybe Maleficent, but he didn't really seem like the type to sing barefoot in the forest.

"My name is Harry Potter." He admitted, not bothering to meet the hunter's eyes. He didn't look like he wanted to even start this conversation. "I took my godfather's surname as a pseudonym, like I said-"

"You have a reputation. What's the Griffin Squad, what's an Auror?" Garth sat down on the armchair, getting pulled into the chat further and further.

Black, or rather Potter leaned in, as if ready to spill the biggest secret of his life, eyes steadily watching him, dead fast and serious. Garth followed suit, the intensity had completely enveloped him, he was about to lay his ears to the inner society of witches. The kind that hunters had never dreamed of.

"None of your business."

And all the tension vaporized.

"Not for nothing, but you're still a hunter. It's in your profession to decapitate, skin, and burn those with affiliation with mine. And maybe you don't, but you have a mouth on you."

He didn't know whether to be offended or appreciate the discretion.

"Fact is, I'm still alive because the other hunters either were too thick to get the hint, and I have enough power to wipe a large town off the map, let alone a few measly apes with firearms."

Now that just stung. But Garth acknowledged that this was probably a pretty sore subject. But he was ready to call bullshit on his power boast. No witch could do that, not unless they got into real dark mojo. For now, he just filed it away.

"So what now? You gonna stay?"

Potter leaned back on the couch. Mulling over his predicament.

"No. I've already gotten a few accusations, and eventually that turns into paranoia, and resentment. No thanks to you."

"What? What did I do?" Garth balked.

Potter raised an eyebrow that clearly meant that he should know.

"Detective Brown said you were asking for information on me. So they did a little digging." Oh.

"Came by before you did, sort of to get the story straight. Had to obliviate the bastard."

Did he just? "Obliviate? I thought you said you weren't into all that dark magic."

Harry just nodded as if to confirm. "Obliviation is erasing memories, hold on, why am I even explaining this to you?"

"Anyway, best to hit the road before anything can retrigger it, or he told anyone else catches on."

_Sounds like a wall_. Garth nodded, eyes returning to the photos. The next one that caught his eye specifically was one of a stocky man with barely any hair left herding what looked to be dragons, his breath sped up as he pointed to it.

"That's Charlie Weasley. Makes a living studying the beasts. Think he discovered a few new breeds."

Dragons were still alive. Dragons were _real._

"Why did you leave?" Staring at all the photos, in every single one Potter looked happy. People surrounded him, or were around.

At first he didn't answer, just watching the photos.

"Because I didn't fit in any more. I wasn't … nevermind."

He waved another hand and the photos piled back into the box. "Don't worry bout it. When are you vacating town?"

"Tomorrow, I have to check on a couple of my friends. They'd be lost without me." Garth boasted in humor. Catching only the brief look of misery in Potter's eyes. Clearly the dude's been on his own for a while, and for an equally brief moment Garth wanted to ask 'Want a lift?' but that sort of dwindled away – getting this guy within a 50 mile radius of the Winchester's would be an accident waiting to happen.

"Listen, is there any way to get in contact with you?"

Potter made a face, one that either meant 'why in seven hells would I want to?' or 'you have to be joking'. Garth knew the two weren't mutually exclusive too.

"You know, you have the mojo going on, and the beastie know how. It would be good to get a hand from someone." When the witch didn't move in either a confirmation or denial, Garth played to the guy's obvious hero needs.

"There would be fewer accidental gankings too, imagine this-"

"Fine, fine, just shut up." Potter shook his head off and conceded his loss.

"Knew you'd come around." Garth beamed. He didn't have to make a face or anything!

"You can contact me through the floo network. Just get some Floo ashes – they're just basically Hemlock, Pine and Laurustinus crushed together. Pour that over a fireplace with a fire going, and say my name."

Garth's eyebrow dropped. "Will you materialize out of said flame?"

"No, but I'll be able to speak to you. If the situation calls for it, I can appear." Potter bit out, somewhat displeased. But Garth could tell that it was forced, like a lot of Dean's actions.

Garth looked at him with a sort of amusement.

* * *

Next morning Harry operated to a drumming in his ears. In his head, everywhere. Last night was the last time he'd ever attempt something that stupid again. The Lethifold wasn't supposed to be here, and that made it his business to remove it, what wasn't his problem was the rookie hunter strutting all over the place. Telling him as much as he did wasn't his fault, in all truth, he blamed the fact that he was exhausted. There were also some times where he almost reminded him of a mix of Collin Creevey and Ron, and as 'his eyes glistened with the ghosts of his past' (almost two decades and he still remembered Skeeter's bullheaded article) he decided to talk.

With any luck the hunter would mess up, never get the floo powder right and thereof fail to contact him with any success.

Then again, he somehow knew the Starks.

Hopefully they'll have another round of marital problems to prevent any assistance to the gangly kid. Hell, maybe even kill the bloke in the crossfire.

Packing up the last of his potioneering equipment Harry sat up on the counters beside the register. This was tiring, jumping state to state, either stay too long and get singled out, or this sort of shit happened. America somehow became a melting pot of the supernatural, demons left and right, it made the majority of Europe seem absolutely tame. Then again, most of it was conquered, dissected and guarded throughout the centuries. The most sophisticated magical order that sat in this stew was the Salem Academy, but they taught basics, and not for seven years, but three.

He missed his friends, _his family._

Luna, Neville, Ginny, but his mind always raced back to Ron and Hermione. Always back to first year, on the Hogwarts Express.

Couldn't go back, not after so expertly faking his death. He couldn't acclimatize to the life that had been prepared for him after the defeat of Voldemort, and being hailed The Master of Death (an outlandish title, death had no master). He knew he neither could nor would stay after one of the raids the aurors had conducted in his first year as an auror.

A dark wizard with his head wired by manticore spines managed to blow a hole in his chest, one that didn't kill him. _Even though it should have. _

He really did become _the boy who lived._ Or the boy who just wouldn't die.

There were many times he thought back to Kings Cross in his mind. Was it then, or was it when he broke the elder wand? He found no answers – and after searching for the length of time he had, he thick apathy started to form within him.

America was easier. Passing through, occasionally helping those who needed it. This was what he called retirement!

The rare fluctuation of activity helped keep him on his feet. Sure it meant giving up the use of his wand cause every wand could be tracked, but after a decade of practicing wandless magic he got the hang of it, more or less. It wasn't as refined and prone to more damaging result since it wasn't channeled through any magical core other than his own. But blast it.

Another place to go now. Maybe he'd hit a bigger city. Chicago, pizza was probably better than Miami's.

Casting the shrinking charm he placed the boxes within the dufflebag. Chicago it was, and with a deafening snap the small, diagonally leaning store at the end of main street would stand vacant, as the report of another disappearance would be reported. Harrison Black was dead.

He never could hide properly anyways.

* * *

Setting up shop was easier than in Eschborn, he just invaded the unused space of an old dentist practice. Put his name on the door, and skipped the paperwork. No one would come around checking, not in this part of the neighbourhood. Or the absence of one. It was squeezed between two buildings, not much room, but he fibbed around with magic again to let it fit more.

He didn't call on the Starks, because. Bothering them for the fifteenth time might be excessive, that and he could do just as well a job.

Maybe not as legal, but for appearance sakes.

He didn't hear from the young hunter for a while either. It was a mostly silent line of business. After a month he had just let the assumption roll off as that he was either dead (knowing his aptitude for choosing the wrong cases), or forgotten about him. No such goddamn luck.

There Harry was, bottling a draught when the furnace behind him roared to life. It was one of those iron canisters that should have been removed half a century ago. Voices echoing from within it.

Really he should have replaced it with an actual fireplace. Would have been more useful.

Opening the metal grate the fire spired higher. A face took up the entire flame, but it sure as hell wasn't the hunter.

"You know this hoodoo really is just weird man."

"Dean, just lay off. This isn't even hoodoo."

"All I'm saying Sammy, is why didn't Garth just get the guy's phone number?"

Harry stepped in front to enter the range of the flame.

"Shit!"

The man on the other end swore, backing away from the flame – making the rest of the occupants visible. A sort of Sasquatch who looked worse for wear, thinning and possibly delirious with fever. Beside (or more accurately beneath) him was the fake agent acting like a giant crutch.

"Ollo Harry!" Garth greeted, waving his only free hand.

"Harry? Really ? Isn't he supposed to be some sort of powerful witch?"

"Wizard." He was getting tired of the misconception.

Dean turned around to give him a raised eyebrow.

"What do you want?" Harry ventured. Hand placed securely on the grate, he'd slam the connection shut if need be.

"Sam's real sick-" Garth started, but he got swatted out by the tallest of the three. He had to have some giant's blood in him.

"I'm not. Garth just said you might have some pain killers that go beyond the usual." Sam protested.

Harry gave him a disbelieving stare, did he really just recommend him to his friends? "You'll need more than pain killers to get right side up if you ask me."

"But we didn't." Dean bit out. "We just need some juice to get Sam good enough to walk without going horizontal on the pavement."

"Or at least get him some rest." Garth pitched in.

Potter shifted his weight on one foot to the next. "I don't exactly do house calls."

Dean's face remained neutral, but his eyes, even through the fire he could see hardened. Something coiled in his stomach – something that he had long forgotten.

"Don't or won't?"

Now that sounded like a clarification, do I find you and bring you here, or bring a gun? At this point Harry was debating it. Get pulled further into this mess, or just do what they ask and get a clean break.

"I can make an exception. Give me your location."

"Man of Letter's Headquaters!" Beamed Garth. Dean shot him a look of incredulity.

"I assume you're using a fireplace, correct?"

Sam nodded weakly.

"Put it out. I'll be there soon."

* * *

AN: And ... another chapter! Trying for longer ones, but due to lack of experience I fear they're still stunted on growth  
Hope you enjoy reading (:


	5. Chapter 5

"Where did you pick this guy up?"

Garth shuffled on his feet and shrugged in a noncommittal way as if to say; 'what's it matter to you?'

"Around. Harry's ain't a problem, sure he's a bit moody and gives lip, but he's a good witch."

"What? Like Glinda?" Dean barked, brow creased in scepticism. Earning a concerned gaze from both, Sam and Garth.

"What? I read." Dean excused, crossing his arms and thinning his mouth as if to justify himself further. Somehow no matter what Garth was inclined to think about, imagining Dean curling up with a Wizard of Oz book in the back seat of the impala had never really seem like a credible version of the truth.

"Spark notes maybe." Sam teased. He couldn't wrap his mind around the concept of his brother enjoying anything beyond the occasional issue of Busty-Asian-Beauties.

There was going to be a storm of retorts about to rain from Dean, most cut short as a ring of green fire razed out from the fireplace. All eyes snapped to the brick hearth as the green flames reached higher, stripping away the back of the fireplace to reveal a man standing in the center, fire razing his clothes, and case.

"What the hell man? Ever hear of doors?"

Harry stepped out, shoes trailing in ash and soot on the tile floor.

"Ever hear of larger fireplaces?" The wizard shot back.

"What are you? Some sort of British Santa?"

Potter wasn't even going to justify that one with a remark. Harry's eyes fell very quickly at Sam who had taken refuge on one of the chairs by the table. Legs propped up by four others, arms digging into the glass top. The closer Harry got to him, the more Sam looked like a leaf in the wind. Swaying and shaking, one push and he'd topple.

"What's wrong with him?"

Setting his potions bag on the table, Harry pulled a chair to sit beside him. Green eyes raking over the obviously unwell body. So this was what Draco must have felt like doing his Healer exams. Pressured from all angles and unwilling to actually get your hands on the patient in case it could cause you a very bad day.

"What's it matter to you? You can't cure it, what do you have?"

Harry rolled his eyes, and opened his bag.

"You'll find that I have enough knowledge to cure most diseases. Or at least the resources to."

"I'm not sick." Sam coughed, blood dripping through his fingers. "Really."

Dean's jaw jutted out, biting back a retort, or a correction.

Harry observed the man through narrowed eyes, leaning against the back of the chair.

"We just want something for the pain, and sleep."

"And if you do it real quick we promise not to shoot you in the head, how bout that?" Dean offered, grin playing on his mouth. Harry couldn't tell if he was serious or not. His own expression started to morph into discomfort, his eyebrows were sinking, and mouth frowning awkwardly.

He searched out Garth who was quite possibly reciting his prayers, or he better be because he was considering roasting him alive.

"Why did you get me involved with this?"

Garth's large doe eyes almost watered as he met his gaze. He knew this tactic – Neville perfected it with his teachers during their last year. This brainwashing wouldn't work on him. No, never.

"I wasn't going to. But then I saw how bad Sam's doing, and you know – you can't let a friend down."

And the air escaped Harry's lungs. _It's your people saving thing._ He had hoped he escaped that pattern.

_Was he that obvious? _

Reaching inside the bag Harry pulled out three flasks, one clear and light, another was a thick, mucous substance, and the third was fairly close to water, if it wasn't black.

"All three taken in half hour intervals. Should stop whatever pain you feel for a day."

Reaching further into the bag Harry pulled out a sleeping potion.

"Never drink it directly. You'll end up in a coma for a week. Mix in tea, soup, whatever you want really – in small doses."

This was a wickeder compound, even though the basic sleeping draught managed to knock out hippopotami like Crabbe and Goyle with one bite.

"So that it?" Dean asked, rubbing his hands is if he was ready to wash Potter's presence off as quickly as possible.

"It would be. If I knew more. I'll stay to make sure the potions take effect, and you know." He paused, and matched Dean's apathy. "He doesn't die."

Potter snapped his bag shut and opened the first vial.

"Woah, woah. He can die from these?" Dean grabbed Harry's arm. Protective, wouldn't think twice about actually taking him down if his partner went cold.

"I'd say no, but since neither of you are telling me exactly what he's afflicted with, I can't give you a definite answer."

"No offence, but that won't happen. You see, Garth's met you once, and from his account you could have been Mother Teresa." Harry sent Garth a confused glare. "But we're fighting for some pretty high odds, and we don't know if you do business with Crowley or any other of those black eyed bastards."

Harry sat there, digesting the information. "If you're talking about demons I don't exactly have much experience with them."

There was a reaction from everyone in the room. Mostly their faces blanked.

"They were everywhere, most witches were recruited pretty quickly." Sam hesitated.

Harry's jaw clenched, and back straightened. "It wasn't on my list of priorities." _One too many wars._

As did Dean's. Harry's disapproving stare travelled to him, and it was almost like magic. He let his hand go. Didn't know if he believed him or not, but with his hand free he handed Sam the first of the numbing potions.

"This one's the least foul, so take comfort in that."

Sam nodded and drank it in one gulp. His tongue stuck out of his mouth, coughing and hissing.

"That was the least foul? You've got to be kidding me."

Harry smiled. There was a special type of joy he felt watching others gag at remedy potions. Made all the palate torture that Madame Pomfrey managed to inflict on him in the seven years he had been in her care almost lighter.

Though in Sam's condition should have just made him feel guilty. When he didn't, it felt wrong. He took the vial, still smiling – to support the illusion of amiability.

"They get worse, the last I'll probably dull your senses."

"Wait you can do that?" Dean barged in.

"I can do a lot more."

"Like build mind walls, and erase memories." Garth chuckled, imitating Darth Vader's breathing.

Sam breathed out heavily, watching the floor.

"Where were you a year ago?"

Rhetorical. At least that's what he got from it.

"Couldn't only Death do that?"

Harry's bewildered face, did not give any answer. Dean just waved his question off.

"Nevermind. Now what do we do?"

Harry checked his watch. "Wait. I trust you have something here to occupy my time instead of this playful banter we have right now."

Sam chuckled lightly. "We have access to some pretty rare books."

"Sam no." Dean started.

Harry looked between the two; he couldn't ascertain their relationship – or their stance with each other. So he decided to just go with his gut.

"That'd be adequate. Allow me to borrow some, and we can call it payment."

"Hell no, why would we let you take them?"

"Because you'll need more than one day's supply of potions. And I do have a business to run."

Dean's chest puffed out and scowl set in place. "He's no better than a crossroad's demon."

Garth giggled slightly, falling into one of the plush couches next to the fireplace.

The next hour consisted of the wizard perusing the books that were all arranged by subject. Hermione would have had a field day. She'd end up setting up camp with a permanent sticking spell. He was more simple, most of these books were informative, but from a perspective and position that he wasn't used to. There were many tomes dissecting the forms of magic, elemental, natural, sensual, ritualistic, most didn't have much to say about his folk.

Just the advisement to approach with caution, if he didn't know better he'd say he was reading an instruction manual for hippogriffs.

"Sorry bout this."

Harry turned around to see Garth thumbing through 'A Commentary on Minotaurs, Cyclops, and Other Greek Beasts'. He didn't comment, mainly because of the aversion he had to some of them. Hydras gave him nightmares, manticores brought bad memories, and nymphs; nymphs should be institutionalized.

"They're your friends aren't they?"

Garth nodded. Harry met him halfway, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Then you did the right thing, even if they are assholes."

The reedy hunter smiled. He really did remind him of a strange mix of Neville and Collin. This was probably why he was in this mess to start off with. He had to stop drawing parallels to his old life. What would he do when he found someone like Hermione and Ron? Like Ginny?

Misery does love company, or past company at least.

"Yo! Glinda, Sam needs his third!" Dean hollered. Harry nodded and travelled down the spire staircase, shoes clanking against the thick metal.

Approaching the table he roughly examined the larger one's condition.

"Feeling better?"

Sam nodded slowly. "Doesn't hurt as much at least."

"Good." Harry uncorked the third and set it beside Sam. Before the other man could formally protest he put a hand to cover Sam's face. Fingers spreading over his forehead and sides of his face. Silver lines travelled from his palms and bouquet out like spider webs.

"Woah, woah!" Dean dashed from the couches, Harry put up a hand to give him pause.

"It's a spell to help your partner take the last of them." A watered down version of a Confundus charm.

"Partner?" Sam asked, eyes starting to blank. "He's my brother." Dean stated, he didn't even look offended by this point. After years of this mix-up it became almost second nature to just let it pass over their heads.

"Right." Harry nodded, handing the bottle to Sam. "This tastes like Peacan pie." Out of the corner of his eye Harry could swear, he saw Dean's eyes look of longing.

Without any real warning the giant grabbed the flask and downed it as quickly as humanly possible. Harry dutifully removed the charm, and pushed forward the sleeping draught.

He didn't originally plan to, but he summoned up some biscuits and poured a bit of the potion over them, and handed one to Sam.

"Eat as much as you can."

"Maybe we should get him into bed first?" Garth voiced, leaning over the banister of the stairs. As if to observe from a safe, and respectable distance. Just in case the giant decided to explode, or implode from the amount of potions he consumed.

However his voice of reason was given too late. Same had finished the first dessert, eyes drooping; he had slumped over in the chair, and readily fell to the floor. Dean was the first one on scene, trying to pick up his brother. Harry licked his lips in annoyance. He never did pay attention to details.

"Move."

Dean didn't. He just stared right back at him. "Why?"

"Because I don't think you can move him by yourself. I'm doing you a favor."

Dean laughed. "As if your skinny ass can lift him."

Harry waved a hand, with a simple levitation spell in mind, raised Sam's body and maneuvered it on one of the couches. Dean's face wasn't exactly one of gratitude. It looked on the border of pissed. That was definitely a hint for him to high tail it.

The wizard swallowed uncomfortably, his eyes soaking up the surroundings, he'd return for the tomes he was promised later. Preferably when they weren't home.

Or on the planet.

If that was even possible.

"I'll be off. You know how to reach me."

Picking up his case, Harry started towards the fireplace. Garth like always spoke first.

"Hold on, how will Sam get more of those" Garth made a hand gesture that Harry really didn't want to decipher. He knew he meant potions, but it could also have been synonymous with a number of other actions, some of which just so happened occurred below the belt.

His face deadpanned, trying not to give away anything.

"I'll send them over. Keep your hearth clear."

Dean nodded roughly, taking a seat beside his brother, concern painted with such clarity that Harry was transported back to the burrow. George lying flat on his back, bleeding from the side of his head.

_You see…I'm holy. Holey, Fred geddit?_

_Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humor before you, you go with holey?_

Not again, he was looking for them in places that didn't even – didn't even resemble them. Clearing his throat, Harry practically marched to the fireplace, stood in its center, fished for some flu powder, and enunciated (clearly, one misadventure was enough); "324 Ridgway, Chicago."

The green flames started at his toes, and enveloped him whole – transporting him straight into the apartment that he had used for his travel. True breaking into your neighbour's flat wasn't very respectable, but had to be done. He had nothing to transport him; his ground floor living space wasn't much to gawk at.

Opening the door to his own home, Harry stopped, barely breathing. There was someone standing in dead center of his living room. Oval face covered in stubble, and cropped hair. His first reaction was that someone from the ministry found him, but he wasn't wearing a robe, nor did he have his wand out. Robber?

"I can see that you've done quite well for yourself." Sarcasm, hopefully. There was nothing to be proud of this establishment.

"Now love, how did you get tangled with those Winchesters?"

The door slammed behind him. Harry nearly jumped at the noise, to his credit however, he didn't wheel around to check on it. There wasn't any chance to turn his back on to whoever this was.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, as reserved as possible.

The stranger grinned broadly. "Crowley, King of hell." Stretched out a hand in play, as if to shake. Harry didn't accept. He definitely spoke too soon when he said he didn't have any interaction with these black-eyed bastards. Maybe this was karma at play, or maybe it's always been hell.

"What do I owe the pleasure?"

"Oh, you know, I just love small talk. Never thought I'd meet you. Ex-savior, and all that."

Crowley started to circle him like a vulture, Harry in turn walked the cycle too. Making sure the keep both eyes on the demon.

"My involvement with the Winchester's is purely professional."

The demon made an unimpressed face. "That the best you can come up with? I've seen cherubs who know how to lie better."

"The large one-"

"Moose." Crowley corrected. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Sam, the tall one. Gigantor, it helps me to know who you're talking about if we use their real names."

"Sam was in need of potions." Harry amended.

"What kind of potions?" Crowley approached, brown eyes watching his every move.

"Nerve and muscle."

"So pain potions. Is Moose in pain?"

"Yeah." He didn't owe them anything, and he wasn't their doctor. Whatever the Winchesters were involved in, it wasn't his problem. A small nagging feeling started to worm into his gut. _Protect them._

"Yeah?" Crowley asked, getting closer.

"Bad indigestion. You know how muggles will eat anything."

Crowley's smile was tight-lipped, as if keeping back a comment.

"So you hold no loyalty to those clowns whatsoever?"

Harry forced a scoff. "None at all."

"Fancy that, a savior who's a snake in the grass. Nice twist. One that I'm not buying."

"Then don't. Just leave me the hell enough alone. I don't have much to offer."

Crowley's smile stretched.

"That's where you're wrong sunshine. You've got a hell of a lot to offer. Considering who, and what you are."

The wizard's grimace wasn't very well hidden after that.

"And what I _pray _tell, am I?"

Crowley's nose lifted slightly, trying to look down on him, even though they stood at the same height. A first really.

"Important, to the coming events I mean."

There was a loaded pause, first one to speak, would be the first to leave.

"Well, see you later. Ta."

Harry didn't get to even blink before the demon disappeared. No clash, no noise.

Silence echoed in his flat.

* * *

The weeks stretched on, Harry made a deposit to the Winchester bunker every three days, they became his most frequent customers. Dean occasionally thought it would be hilarious to stick in notes on the flasks.

_There a remedy for being a gigantic asshole?_

_Your potions smell, all our rats died. No joke._

_You in business with Wanda Maximoff?_

_Why don't angry witches ride their brooms? They're afraid of flying off the handle._

_Why do witches wear name tags? So they know which witch is which._

The further they progressed, the more assured Harry became that Dean was a five year old in an adult suit. He started to leave some of his left over Bertie Bott's Beans at the bottom, which no doubt one of the brothers tried them. He made sure that he only left the sordid ones. Well maybe there would be a few good ones.

Time for another shipment. Harry placed the containers in a small wooden crate. Pressed against himself, flooed himself to the bunker.

One step outside however, Harry nearly fell over. The box he left previously was still there. Still full, potions swirling around, glowing, the lights weren't on. The place looked abandoned.

Harry stacked his current box on top. Time to book pinch, he was waiting for the opportunity sides they owed him. Not like they'd pay him anyways.

Not to mention it was borrowing, not taking. He'd make copies, and return the originals. In a way it was like making backups.

Harry dove in his the isles that he remembered. Picking up the tomes he had highlighted in his memory. Most on herbs, and magical properties of different beasts that he didn't have listed in his own texts. Then came the inscriptions on magics, just trying to spread of his knowledge more. His hand hovered over a demon scroll. As if not sure to take it or not. If he did, he'd be burying himself further into the hole he was digging himself into. There already was a King of Hell after him. (Not that he's heard from him lately)

The lights blasted on. Harry froze, and waited.

Only one set of footsteps. Meaning it wasn't the brothers. Garth maybe?

Harry peaked out from the bookshelves.

"Woah, who the hell-"

Harry fought the urge to raise his hand. This kid (because that's what he was, despite of how worn down he looked), just stared at him with a rather blanched expression.

"Dean didn't say that there was anyone- are you a demon?"

Harry frowned behind the borrowed books.

"Just dropping off the usual."

_FFFFFFFFSSSSSSS_

Alert, and ready for battle at any corner, the machinery within the compound started fizzle, and blink without cease. Whatever just happened, he did not do.

* * *

AN: Otherwise known as the chapter Harry meets a shit load of people. Well, it was necessary. First impressions out in the open. The season finale was rather emotionally draining, wasn't it? And the rest of the story will follow with it. So yeah, at this point Cas is human, angels are on earth, Crowley's a changed man, and Chuck really needs to make an appearance.  
So how did you like the finale? And the rest, anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter. (:


	6. Chapter 6

"Could just let me go." Harry ventured, his hands planted on his knees. Fingers drumming anxiously, he really was gearing up to slap a body throwing charm on this kid, then book it out of the bunker. (Texts in hand obviously)

"Shut up!"

The kid ordered (or in Harry's perception demanded), brandishing a shot gun hysterically at his head.

All these hunters should be placed under Hermione's patient watch. She'd make banners, sweaters, and an anagram that would make their eyes wilt in mere gaze of it. Something like LMCA (Leave Magical Creatures Alone), or some pun on words. He wasn't Hermione, of course; he couldn't find something equally debilitating like SPEW. Or FART which was a movement or rather the preference to not wear trousers; founded by Archie Aymslowe a wizard that Harry had learned to quickly avoid when making his way to the fifth floor of the Ministry. Aymslowe was harmless, in small doses. Warned small doses. Surprises not advised.

"I'm not anything dangerous" _Right now. _"I'm just collecting my fee."

Nothing faltered on the boy's face, but behind his eyes Harry saw the movement of thought. Swirling around, trying to make sense of what was going on.

"What fee is that?" The shotgun approached his cranium with graceless movements.

Not an expert fighter. His physique was slight, malnourished. He had bookish hands, Hermione had the same ones, and he could recognize the tremble partnered with paper cuts easily enough. A born scholar, not a warrior. But he did fight, despite being two strides from death's door; he still tried to protect the Winchesters.

Despite holding him hostage – Harry had to respect the loyalty.

"Lets just say they owe me. Had to help the Moose-"

"You're one of Crowley's hounds aren't you?" The teen chuckled.

Why was he laughing? Harry chanced a side glance. It wasn't a particularly strong laugh, it sounded desperate.

"No, but I've met him. Seems fitting enough. Tall, sways side to side." Harry stopped when he felt the muzzle pressed against his temple. Protective, not just loyal. There was something obscenely familiar to this situation. He was however usually on the other end of this scenario.

"Don't start with that. How do you know Crowley if you're not working for him?"

Harry closed his eyes. "Had a slumber party together. Painted each other's nails, watched old movies, cried." The boy nudged the barrel of the gun against his head in the universally accepted method for the detainee to shut their trap.

"He wanted to know what I was doing with the Winchesters, I told him the truth."

"Which was?" Again the ankle biter pushed against his head.

"I was making potions for them. Simple pain killers for the tall one."

The hunter (Harry assumed) retracted his weapon. Thankful Harry straightened his jacket.

"Finally come to your-" Harry never finished his sentence due to the cascade of water launched at his face. Salt, and something else landed straight into his mouth. The wizard sputtered out a strong burst of it out on the floor.

"You're not a demon." The kid mumbled, putting away the water bottle down on an end table. Harry's eyes followed it, vowing to destroy it no matter the cost.

"Holy Water?" Harry guessed.

The delinquent nodded lamely.

"Great. Now that you're convinced I'm not a demon, care to let me be on my way?"

His captor's eyes narrowed in a sort of way that carried the thought 'how stupid do you think I am?' That thought was interrupted by the slam of the door to the bunker against the wall adjacent to it.

"Kevin!"

Dean. Harry could recognize that tone in a heartbeat, out of self-preservation he stood up from the couch. Kevin's hands dropped the weapon from Harry's head, as his eyes located the brothers.

"Dean! Did you do it?"

Dean shook his head as he propped up his brother, who looked worse than he ever, thought possible. Eyes blood shot, to summarize, there was very little of Sam Winchester that didn't resemble a walking bruise. He looked like he's been camping in the dark forest around the full moon.

The shorter of the two buried his face into the folds of Sam's massive side. It was a last chance sort of grasp. Emotion fled Harry's expression, whatever the brothers have been involved in it had been more serious than the value he had assigned it to be. He just assumed they were on the trail of some burning monster gone rogue.

Evidently he was wrong.

"What happened?"

Dean turned to him, his face turning from grief to all the stages between anger, before it landed on fury.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Quickly his eyes roamed to find the dismantled pile of tomes and he understood.

"You're collecting your payment."

Harry held up his hands. "In my defence, I was making another drop, saw you weren't here, and decided to take a look."

"Dean." Sam groaned into his brother's neck. Hands holding on to his coat just to stay balanced, the older of the two finds his brother a place to sit. Sam didn't sit however; he dropped onto the armchair with special prejudice. It took moments for him to seemingly pass out.

"What happened?" Kevin repeated, his voice gaining in urgency.

Dean looked at the kid with as much disappointment as Harry thought his face could muster.

"Metatron lied. Lied about everything. He had no interest in slamming any doors. He just wanted everything pushed on the surface."

Pushed what on the surface? Times like these he wished he had a road map of events; it was eerily like he was eleven again. No one ever told him anything.

"So what you're telling me … is that all the demons are on the surface of the Earth." Kevin said, expression hoping between fully frightened and manic. It would have been funny, if the situation wasn't as dire.

"No." Dean abrasively shoved his hands in his pockets. "Just the angels."

"So, did you get to slam the demons in?" Kevin hissed.

"No. Metatron lied." Dean repeated. Kevin's eyes narrowed, he approached Dean with the shotgun still in hand.

"I translated the trials; it should have closed those doors. Metatron may have lied about the angel's tablet, but the demon one, I translated! I didn't lie, so tell me Dean! What happened?"

Dean's head hung lower than Harry had ever seen it drop.

"Kevin, we had no way of knowing if the black-eyed assholes would even stay in hell."

_Maybe the doors would shut behind them._

Was the audible suggestion. Kevin's arms dropped, the shot gun fell on the floor. Harry was surprised to find it wasn't loaded.

"So what, all those months go down the toilet because you weren't sure?"

"Damn it Kevin! It would have killed Sam."

There, all that tension out in the open, Harry could taste it. Without any context, he could breathe all the shame, regret, fear, humiliation that Dean was giving off. It was rancid, and made him bristle in memory of similar times in his life.

He had to get out, as much as he felt compelled to stay, _to help._ He knew the faster he got out, the better it would be, no more dropping bodies for some cause. No more loss.

Getting up, Harry made a motion for the fireplace, leaving the books behind. Call it debt paid, leaving here in one piece would be enough for him.

"You! Wait." Dean called, Harry met his eyes.

There was a desperation he hadn't seen in a while. It called to him, feeling compelled to do so, he stopped in step.

"Help my brother, he's in a lot of pain."

Harry pretended to think about it, as if he hadn't decided.

"And a friend."

Harry raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "What friend?"

Dean looked a little reluctant at first. "Castiel."

Harry looked off into the myriad of books lined up. Pretending to be driven by payback, rather than his easily won compassion for the two brothers. They looked like they've gone through hell and back, and still managed to hold on to each other. Silence permeated through air, it was grating, anxious and wore down on what little of Dean's nerves had.

His eyes eventually wandered back to the oldest of the brothers and nodded.

"Put them in their rooms, I'll tend to them easily enough. In the meantime." Harry unlocked a hanging pouch from his hip and threw it at Kevin.

"Pack my books."

The expression he got was priceless.

Kevin all but carried Sam to his room. Mostly dragging the large mass to his room. Mopping the floor most proficiently along the way, leaving a clean trail behind where the body traveled. Dean carried Castiel in, and dumped him in his own room Harry guessed. Never thought it would be possible to turn gun-fetishism into an art.

Castiel was a smaller man, thinner, tangled black hair. Creased face, dressed in a suit and beige trench coat. Harry stood in the doorway, observing Dean's actions as he tended to his friend. Castiel looked like he was in better condition than Sam by far. But the hunter treated him like glass. One wrong move and he'd shatter.

Harry looked over Sam moments previous to this, and healed any physical maladies with spell work rather than potions. His biggest problem was trying to find equilibrium with his energies. From his inspection, Sam's internal forces resembled jumbled wires rather than the Alaskan pipeline that he should have had.

Castiel however … there wasn't anything wrong. Or rather, he had some extra juice than the other two, but otherwise, healthy. Or at least healthier. Dean turned around, catching him in his observation, his expression was weary, as if Harry was about to jump and stab him in the back.

"What's wrong with him?" Harry finally asked, leaning against the door-way.

"Why not get your English ass here and find out?" Dean snarked back, smoothing Castiel's hair over his face. Harry however didn't move, didn't approach. No, this time he'd wait to know what he was getting himself involved in, look before you leap. After three decades he learned, believe it or not.

"Well?" Dean turned around, aggressively in his chair, only to find Harry's disapproving gaze aimed directly at him. It wasn't clearly written on his face, there was very little that was conveyed through his expression, or body language Dean found. But he could tell the witch was displeased.

"Not until you tell me who he is."

Dean bit his lip, looked back to his friend then back to Harry.

"He is, was, an angel."

Harry blinked. "Is that a flirtation of some sort?"

Dean's lips stretched into a broad smile, he was holding back a laugh the size of Texas.

"No. He's an angel, wings, halo, bright shining lights."

Harry nodded. Fifteen years ago, he would have sent Dean to to get his head-examined, but after demons he was willing to take on the possibilities that dimensions of that nature actually existed.

"Doesn't feel like an angel."

Dean's focus from Harry's face dwindled, his eyes eventually sought their way to his feet.

"Yeah well, he's not one anymore."

There was a sizable silence. Harry spoke first.

"What do you want me to do about it?"

Dean's face slackened and he closed his eyes. "I don't know. I don't think I have any clue about what happens next. At least when something attacks you, you know to aim for the head. With this – we have no idea how to reverse anything."

He coughed out a laugh. "Seems like I only know how to make messes."

Harry rolled his lips inside his mouth. He could relate. He shouldn't have, he should have agreed and left. That was the reasonable thing to do. He made a point of repeating of the phrase 'keep me out of this', but here he was, about to take a step knee deep.

This was his final chance to back out, to step back, and continue his tranquil existence in America. Where the most of his worries would be a perceptive client, or a bad review.

Harry unbuttoned his sleeves, and rolled them up to his elbows. Taking long strides he sat next to the unconscious man, he took a longer look at this _angel_. Spreading his palm open, Harry placed it lightly on his chest, digging past the coat and tie.

There was something in him. Not magic, but something close. Seems like he hung on to something. Maybe. Somewhere.

The wizard felt the being underneath his hand stir, snapping his eyes open he stared at Harry. Bright blue, and unwavering.

Was he deducing what to do with him, or was he simply trying to find words – Harry couldn't decide. His eyes were just impassively watching him.

"Dean." He eventually spoke, gaze still fixed on the wizard.

"This is Harry." Dean couldn't finish, because Castiel interrupted him.

"I know who he is. What is he doing here?"

Dean's exuberance fell somewhat, like a kid who found out that mom didn't like the breakfast he made because as of now the kitchen was a war zone.

"He's here to help."

Castiel's eyes finally looked to Dean in hope, and fear, eventually they roamed back to Harry.

"How do you know him Cas?"

Harry's eyes let through a warning through, Castiel got it loud and clear. At least in Harry's mind he did.

"I looked for him, for months. There's no point to it now."

"Why were you looking for him?" Dean asked, clearly unaware at the hardened gaze that the wizard was sending. Seems like he wasn't just a small time, innocent witch he perceived him to be.

"It's no longer of importance." Castiel finished, nodding at the dark haired magic-user.

"Why not?" Pressing the issue really was Dean's strong suit. If he immobilized him, would the angel mind?

"Circumstances changed."

Though that sprung up questions in Harry's mind. Why would the god squad start to look for him in the first place, then give up? Why even start? The situation only started to sink in at this moment, he was hunted by angels, and didn't even realize. Either the death cloak was more effective than he even thought, or he got slammed with a hex-bag of some sort.

Definitely worth a look through his things again.

"Like what circumstances?" Dean laughed, head tilted, sending disbelieving glances to the smaller man. Then his face arrested in mid motion.

"He's not god is he?"

Castiel's expression was stiffer than anything he had seen on a frightened newt.

"Because if that's the case we have to have a very long conversation." Dean half joked.

"No. He is not god." The angel fell back on the bed, trying to get as comfortable as the clothes he lived in allowed him.

"The Horsemen were neutralized."

As if that explained everything, the angel pulled the covers over himself, and rolled on his side, facing away from both of the other men. He wasn't in the mood to talk, and wasn't going to go into any great length to do so.

"The Horsemen?" Harry voiced, once again completely out of the loop.

There was enough written on the hunter's face to show he wasn't comfortable, or interested in sharing neither information nor opinion on this subject.

* * *

"So what happens now?" Kevin asked, leaning over the see-through table. There was something akin to losing yourself in a daze when being brought up to speed on a situation you had no idea existed. Harry understood he didn't know everything, or all the details, but it was enough to make his head spin faster Jupiter.

"Dunno. But this will definitely let all the spooks who've been hiding under the rocks for the last while into actions. Mean you've had demons, pagan gods, and a whole other range of crap who haven't made a single peep when the angels have been knocking on the globe." Dean bit back, looking over at Harry he pointed a finger.

"Just look at him."

It took a moment for that to hit him, Harry's mouth frowned and nose pinched up in mild offence.

"I've been meaning to ask bout that. Why is there a witch here?" Kevin leaned in and hissed conspiratorially.

"Wizard." Harry corrected, the two hunters turned towards him – expressions essentially blank. Well Kevin might have looked a little muddled.

"So what, how do we beat Metatron?" Kevin leans back into his chair.

Dean laughs, its wind-like, there's no heart behind it. "How do you want to do it? Pray and hope he shows his ugly mug here? We're done man, I'm done."

"What do you mean you're done?"

Dean shrugged. "Done, as in the opposite of still going. What are we supposed to do? Find every angel and restore their grace to them? Did you see how many fell?"

"What if we just returned Castiel's grace?" Kevin urged, getting more desperate.

"Usually for a trial to take effect, it needs to be used up. Odds are his grace is either keeping the doors sealed, or it's gone." Harry voiced, inputting for the first time into the conversation.

"Either way you'll need someone who can get into heaven's dimension and remove it." Harry finished, folding his arms.

Dean's face was thoughtful, as if hitting on a half realized idea.

"Couldn't someone who's dead do that?" Kevin put in.

"Sure, we just have to find someone who can overpower and angel, and be adept at mojo."

"Reapers?"

"Reapers can't access heaven or hell." A lower voice intoned. All three bodies rotated to see Sam leaning against a wall.

"They can get into purgatory, why not heaven and hell?" The student probed. "What does is it not in their contract?"

"Because heaven and hell are 'final' destinations." Harry supplied, fingers in motion for the air quotes.

This earned a subtle smirk from Dean. Final his ass.

"You need someone who doesn't abide to any one dimension." Harry continued.

"Now who do we know who can do that?" This was of course said in poor humor, causing Dean to turn to Sam with an alarmed look on his face.

"He wouldn't help us. Hell, we don't even know how to find him without summoning him. And that is definitely out of the question."

"Who?" Harry inquired, he could feel his insides churning. He didn't want to know, despite it being pivotal.

"Death."

* * *

AN: Sorry bout the long wait, summer's becoming more hectic somehow. Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

Harry didn't stick around for long after hunters started to discuss how to track Death down. At least mentally, physically he positioned himself on a worn down couch in the formation before the fireplace. Ready to flee at any chance of said persona arriving. Tracing the arm of the chair he stared absently at the pitted discussion. All of them throwing ideas back and forth on how to locate death, could they predict him? Maybe force a demon to tell them. Harry registered bits and pieces, most of it went in one ear and out the other.

Aunt Petunia called it _his selective hearing._ She was right on some level, he could tune anything out. A brief memory of Hermione with a mountain of books phased behind his eyes. Almost anything.

What wouldn't he give to have her here? The squabbling would be replaced by sharp page turns, and scribbling of notes. Research first. Never make an action half-knowledgably. That was the plan, just never really reached reality did it? All those bloody years of preparation, and it always went down the tubes.

The name Crowley was thrown around the conversation, shot down eagerly by Dean who claimed him to be too unstable to deal with at this point. Sam defended his choice, while Kevin lounged back and snuck in some criticism on both sides. Occasionally he'd turn his head to catch a glimpse of them talking, he knew that words didn't have physical form, but the inclination still stayed.

He felt Castiel sooner than he saw him; the padding creased as the angel descended on it alerting the wizard to his presence. Neither one spoke for a long time.

"Why don't you speak?" Castiel finally intoned.

"What's to say?" Harry answered; posture even while sitting defensive. He could tell Castiel was watching him closely. Receiving attention wasn't he was ever after, especially from an ex-celestial being.

"You have a special connection to the Horseman, you could be of service."

Harry looked to the broken angel, face guarded. "I have nothing of the sort."

Castiel's brow lowered and he squinted his eyes. If it was supposed to look intimidating, it didn't.

"It's inadvisable to lie to me."

Harry scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Are you trying to threaten me? You, the wet towel?"

This earned a confused glance from the walking trench coat. "I'm not a toiletry."

Harry's eyebrows rose, and he nodded in incredulity. "Of course."

"Thank you." That seemed to be enough for the ex-angel.

"Have you met Death?" Harry probed, after keeping the silence between them as long as possible.

"Yes." Castiel responded, his eyes held on the other conversation in the room. He didn't elaborate his answer like Harry hoped he would.

"So have you."

Harry carefully turned to look at Castiel, holding himself in as much composure as he could muster.

"Think I would have remembered that." He scoffed

"When Thomas Riddle killed you, you met him on a dimensional plane. He gave you a choice."

Harry's turned paler than printer paper, he went still, flabbergasted. What little control he had, dissipated like ash in the wind.

"No, Dumbledore met me, he spoke to me-"

"Albus Dumbledore had been dead for a year, his soul had passed on the instant his body hit the ground. Death wasn't bound to any form until now. He chose to appear to you as the man who you respected most." Castiel explained calmly, his eyes eventually catching his hands, rubbing them softly against each other.

Harry wet his lips, breathed in slowly and spoke, however even in his best efforts his voice still cracked.

"Death gave me a _choice_ whether I wanted to live or to die?"

Castiel nodded. "The first time if I'm correct."

"Why?"

Castiel's expression didn't change, still serious and held together. What was holding him together was fragile; Harry saw the glue many times in his life, hope. From his understanding, the only reason was that he wasn't wallowing in guilt and fear was because he shared the delusion with the hunters that they could fix the situation.

"You haven't figured it out." It was a statement not a question.

"No, not really. The immortality sort of throws you for a loop." Harry's exasperated tone bordered on rage.

"Something you'd like to share with the rest of the class?" Dean's smart ass voice called across the room.

Harry steeled his eyes, and fixed his posture to one of control. "No." He could tell that his couch mate had something very different to say, but held his tongue.

In the silence, the phone went off. Dean reached inside his coat and pulled out the falling apart device.

"Agent Young speaking."

A muted garble on the other side signaled the other speaker. Harry's ears prickled, he knew that voice.

"Garth, slow down buddy."

A knot twisted in Harry's stomach. Garth was probably knee deep in whatever was happening, confused.

"Yeah the angels fell."

Or perhaps not.

"No, it wasn't Sam's fault."

Castiel's gaze lowered to the floor, the shame catching up to the ex-angel.

"We have a bit of a crisis here."

A sharp ring from the cellphone was a clear sign of distress from the other side.

"Calm down, it's not as if we can get to Maine in the next day. Don't you have anyone else you can call?"

Dean pulled the phone from his ear, Garth hung up abruptly.

It took approximately thirty seconds before the fireplace roared to life.

* * *

Hulsberg, Maine. 780 Samuelson Drive is where Harry ended up at the end of his conversation with Garth. The preference to help the awkward hunter outweighed whatever moral obligation he cultivated for the Winchesters in this compressed time period. That and the longer he stayed the heavier his stomach felt.

He didn't meet Dumbledore, he met Death. Death like the bugger he was, didn't announce himself, or show any inclination to telling him what the situation was. He let him walk straight into the deal that he did, with no prior knowledge that this would last for the rest of his existence.

Though would it really have mattered if he knew of the consequences? Would he actually ever consider abandoning his friends, his home for the sake of a normal death?

_No. Some warning would have been nice though._ His brain supplied.

Harry brushed the ash from his shoulders off, trying to look as professional as possible.

Garth coughed as the billows of soot and dust rolled his way, in failed attempt he tried to wave them off.

"That never gets old man, why travel any other way?" He gasped through coughs. It took a moment for Harry to realize that he was being sarcastic.

"Broom would take too long; apparition requires knowledge where I'm going. This is easier."

"Noted. Wait, you ride broomsticks?"

"From your message, I thought it would be urgent." Harry commented, trying to move the conversation away from what could potentially be damning information.

"Like legit brooms, or is that some sort of device that-"

"Garth."

"Right. Anyway I was in this town for a Bakhtak or a ghoul, but that's when things started to get really weird." The two walked out of the abandoned house, and out on the street. It was late enough in the morning that the sun was striking up the sky. Painting the dark with orange and blue.

"What do you mean weird?"

Garth looked at the wizard and pointed ahead. There squat in the town square sat a tree. Fat and over-reaching. Branches spread in a burst position, its roots winding through the cobble stones that paved the streets.

"That was a sampling two days ago. After it sprouted people started to disappear."

Harry approached the barked monster, eyes examining it carefully. This was definitely magical, but an older more primordial type. It was oppressive, pushing back whatever air he breathed out back up his nostrils.

"Disappear how?"

Garth shrugged, biting his upper lip. "Just disappear. One minute they're there, the next they're not."

That tree is drawing closer to them, Harry can feel it reaching, instinctively he took a few steps back. A hand grabbing Garth's shoulder and moving him back with him. Harry's face is impartial, playing the role of the observer.

"What's going on?"

He might have seen this before, not himself, but Neville mentioned of carnivorous trees before. But the problem is that it didn't feel like a tree. More like a wolf about to spring from the thick of a forest. You couldn't see it, its dark coat blending to the dark of the trunks and shadows. But you could feel it watching, digging its nails into the earth.

"How many gone?" Harry asked after a few moments, green eyes still observing the barren sight.

"Twenty six. But that was last night, the detectives I was working with disappeared this morning."

Most likely more than thirty by this point. That ruled out carnivore trees, nothing could eat that fast.

"Why don't you show me what you have so far?"

Garth led him to his hotel room, key jamming at every opportunity it had. Harry offered to open it himself; the hunter however still had his pride to maintain. Maybe he couldn't take out every beastie himself, but he could open a door or three.

The room's walls were plastered with papers, and books laid out in circular patterns.

_It's for optimization of studying Harry; you could learn a thing or two._

_No offense Hermione, but that's just sick. How can you read more than one thing at once?_

"At first I thought it might have been demons, you know with the angels falling, but demons have no reason to spirit away people."

Harry walked around the edges of the room, eyes scanning the papers.

"They could be leaving hell, possessing as many as possible."

Garth made a noise. Seems he hadn't considered the possibility. He sat at the desk, but faced the inside of the room.

"The tree doesn't fit though. The only thing that I can guess could be pagan god, but I couldn't find anything in the town lore to go with that."

"Sometimes the town doesn't fit."

Garth raised an eyebrow, challenging the wizard to continue.

"It's the people. Pagan gods are rarely bound to place, unless they're the patron of a specific river, or mountain. Usually after they're done with a place they move on. That's why you have so many of them with the same powers. It's like constant witness protection."

"So, same god, different name?"

Harry shrugged, to signify that it was pretty much the case. If this was a pagan god, it would lead to more than a few complications. At least in comparison to a carnivorous tree.

"Each god gives something in return for the sacrifices." Garth input, scratching the side of his face in thought.

"So I guess we just have to find the good things that happen here." He concluded, dark eyes combing through his wall of information.

"Donalds really benefited when Sutherland, Smith and Masters kicked the bucket." Garth picked out.

Harry sat down on the springy motel bed, trying to pinpoint where the hunter was searching.

"Coincidence?"

"Could be." Garth admitted. After a pause he looked at Harry and then back at the wall. "You sure it's not another witch?"

The darker haired man's lips thinned as he held back a particularly nasty comment.

"Well if it is a Pagan god then all we gotta do is put a stick through its heart." Garth offered. He didn't miss the way Harry's eyes closed in disappointment, as if staking someone was a vile exercise.

"What? You know of any better solution?"

"Anything would be a better solution. Impaling them only puts their energy back in the cycle. You're just delaying the problem."

Garth's mouth hung open at the information.

"I'm fairly sure it ends them."

Harry however had the most disbelieving expression Garth had ever seen on anyone's face. And he was inclined to believe the witch all together.

"So how would you stop them?"

"You don't, they're gods for a reason. You can bind them, lock away their powers, odds are they won't be able to undo that since they're solitary by nature and won't be able to get help." Harry shrugged.

"Or, bind their abilities to something else." Harry's eyes landed on Garth, and the hunter froze beneath them.

"Uh-uh." Garth responded quickly. "You ain't planting this on me."

It took a moment to assess what he meant by this; however when the implication fell into place Harry just sighed.

"I wasn't going to. Just thinking how to lure this thing out of its nest."

Garth's concerned face was replaced by one of scorn.

"Why is it that whenever we work together I end up the bait?"

So there he was, sitting on the roots of the tree. Fiddling with the long abandoned wand he carried. It took every effort, even after years, not to use it. The resilient phoenix core twisted to him, trying to coerce him into wielding it again. Harry never noticed the pull of magic until a few years ago; he assumed it was an aging thing. You notice more with counted years, and understanding.

In the end, he lost the argument with Garth on the whole bait issue. The hunter put into terms of experience, he had it, and Harry on the other hand had never come face to face of any deity yet. It was a weak argument and the shit knew it. Which is why he vacated the motel to get supplies as quickly as possible.

The sun had set a while ago; there was no wind around to even move the leaves on the trees to make it a relaxing evening. Instead it was unnaturally still. The houses that stood further away were the only ones with their lights on. The ones that stood at the square had their curtains drawn, and homes silent.

It had been threatening to rain for the last few hours, luckily however it held off.

"I never imagined you'd be the one who'd be waiting for me."

Harry turned to the source. He did it slowly, deliberately and in his mind smoothly. Though he couldn't deny the fact that his palms had started to sweat, and throat constricted when he heard the voice.

Sitting on the concrete fountain sat a woman. Her blonde hair raised in a polite bun, dressed in a gray tailored suit. She was relaxed (at least her body language was), her eyes were nevertheless attentive. Watching his every move, preparing for anything rash and unexpected.

"Seeing you is definitely unexpected." She confirmed. Rising to her feet, she approached him. She couldn't have been taller than 5 feet, though the shoes probably added a couple of inches. He expected something more grandiose in a god.

"Why is it unexpected?" Harry finally questioned back, finding his tongue finally free of the restraints he had placed on it by astonishment.

She didn't answer him, just sent him a coy smirk and rolled her eyes. She was utterly comfortable with the superiority she held, and wasn't afraid to make it known.

"You know why. I never took you for the type for humor. Not with your sordid history." She commented, her eyes drawing to her fingernails, bright gray orbs examining them with scrutiny.

"I'm sorry, did I make a joke?" Harry asked, his uneasiness slowly expiring. She didn't feel imposing, nor did she compel him to grovel like the books had described these beings to do.

"You might as well have. Playing the role of the hero. It's as if you're you again."

"Have we met?" He didn't interrupt her out of courtesy, or primarily out of her unknown abilities.

"Yes. We have." She affirmed, after a moment she sighed. "Not really. In a way, though."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"I'm Aibell." She held out an amiable hand, as if in good sportsmanship.

"Harrison James Potter." Formal. No chance for affability, seeing as how he planned to bind her powers to something, leaving her more human than she would likely ever experience.

"Why are you killing so many people?"

Aibell touched her nose in a conspiring tone. "Can't a god have their secrets?"

Harry shrugged, as if indifferent to the outcome. "If the god wants their head attached to their body they don't."

She looked almost scandalized. "You've allied yourself to the hunter. Would have thought better of you."

The wizard didn't speak, simply observed the blonde, eventually the silence wore down on her.

"For every human I take, I give this town a season of protection. And with the angels gone, this little place will need all the help it can get. Can you imagine what say a wendigo would do to this place?"

Harry didn't bother pointing out the fact that she was about as bad as any wendigo, killing people for a sacrifice she didn't even need to protect them. It was for the sheer adulation, and thrill.

"Doesn't matter much now. Just need ten more, and I have myself an even forty. Hate to leave it in the decimal count." She added, as if humans were equivalent to the apples used in mathematical problems.

"You give them ten years."

She nodded enthusiastically. "Ten years of quiet, prosperity. You don't get better deals than that. Not even from those bloodsucking demons."

"Then what?" Harry asked.

"Then I might come back, might not. I go where the wind takes me."

She was as flippant as she was hypocritical, Harry rooted for a place in his gut not to take offence.

"I've had the chance to meet some of the people who came looking for you on this side of the pond."

"Meet or eat?" Harry joked stiffly; the pagan gods had a label of being humanitarians.

"Both, now that you mention it."

The hair on Harry's neck stood on end. It shouldn't have, but the anxiety rose in his stomach. People looked for him, they knew he wasn't dead. Or at least suspected it, and died looking for him. Guilt swarmed his insides.

"The red-head though."

_Not Ginny. _

"He was a real piece of work."

_Ron._ A different and all together more powerful feeling coiled in his gut. The carefree slouch and expression washed from his body. He reached for his core's energy, fueling to tear the miniature god apart.

"There's that rage I've heard so much about. Did you know he actually thought he could help you? In the end it's more like he needed your help." She scoffed, crossing her legs.

_And he wasn't there to help him._

"When?" He hissed. What he wanted to ask was 'who else?' but his thought train grabbed on to Ron's wellbeing and didn't unhitch.

"Eight years ago, maybe ten." She watched his expression with impish amusement. "Maybe yesterday."

Harry knew that Garth was waiting close by, watching for anything to go wrong and impale the goddess. Somehow he didn't feel like giving him the chance to. His magic lashed out faster than it had ever done. Knocking her off the stone and pinning her down to the ground, near the tree she cultivated. Her limbs bound by tethers, he calmly walked over to her.

"I apologize. You made it sound like the red head of this story died by your hand."

She giggled, high pitched, and unstable. She was like the inverted version of Bellatrix. Light where she was dark stunted where the noble-born witch had been lengthy. It made it easier, for what he did. The bone breaking curse came with ease, aiming it at her arms, however he didn't hit the mark. It landed squarely on her ribs and her chest crumpled with every breath. Blood seeped from her mouth, coughing caused her enough pain that it almost soothed the wrath.

"He begged, he was a coward." She hissed, vocal power diminished, he could tell however she was healing herself as she spoke. Harry heard the fall of footsteps behind him, Garth was annoyingly reactive.

"He would never beg." Harry corrected, eyes steeling away any emotion. He cast another bone breaker, when she responded with a triumphant smirk; he followed up with a cruciatus curse. This time, she screamed. Garth grabbed his arm, pulling him back; this however didn't break his concentration.

"What are you doing?"

Harry didn't look back at him; his focus was on still on Aibell. "What was his name?" He ground out, applying more pressure to the unforgivable.

_You have to mean it Potter_

"Weasley." She sputtered.

"Stop it Harry! What are you-"Harry elbowed him away.

"His full name." He shouted, Garth pulled back visually swallowing as he watched the witch torture the god with what looked to be sheer will. He didn't know whether to fear him, or be impressed. Nothing could trap something like a god like that, other than angels. Or particularly crafty demons.

"Percival." She sobbed. Everything seemed to slow, Harry stood hunched over her. His anger froze, he wasn't breathing. Garth approached him; he was convinced he couldn't even see him.

Harry crouched down to where she was, relinquishing the spell, letting to bathe off her, as he watched her closely.

"Repeat that." He instructed.

"P-Percival We-easley." She breathed, eyes flying over him, as if expecting another set of torture.

Harry released a calming breath. A butchered method of regaining control, but it seemed to do the trick.

"I will bind you to this town. Should you kill any more, or bloody kill them all, know that you will very much know what it means to be alone."

* * *

"What the hell was that?"

Garth murmured while driving the Ford out of Hulsberg. Harry did as he promised; he bound Aibell to the town, rather than even attempt to extract her powers. She was sealed into the confines of the area; it took effort, and a great deal of magic. She would have rebelled, or at least fought back if she was still healing her broken bones and ego.

"She had poor word choice." Harry returned, forehead pressed against the backseat window. All the anger that had welled up inside his head exhausted him physically. Mentally he wasn't any better. Percy was dead (or at least that's what Aibell said), he knew Harry was alive. He always did know more than he should. The real concern that plagued Harry's mind was; how much did the others know? Did Ron and Hermione find out? Or did Percy act on his own, without alerting anyone else's suspicions. The problem at hand however stood, Percy traveled here, meaning the paperwork would lead others. (If he truly didn't escape)

The questions swirled within his cranium, pausing every now and then to look at Garth who he caught looking at him with concern on his face.

"What is it?" Harry croaked, eyes slowly shifting to the back of the brunette's head.

"Why did you lose it?" There was very little but worry in the hunter's voice.

Harry considered lying, but it wouldn't show much use.

"She gave me the impression that she killed someone I care for."

"Did she?" The car rocked side to side as it hit a small ditch.

"Little bit."

The car ride was quiet; it would have been soundless if it wasn't for the sound of car tires against the dirt path, and the light patter of rain on the surface of the automobile.

"When you said you could destroy a town, you weren't kidding were you?" This time some worry came about, his voice tenser than it should have been.

Again Harry was put in the situation to decide to tell the truth.

"No, I wasn't."

Garth rolled his lips inwards to wet them, and continued in his hushed, yet jumpy voice.

"Will it ever become a problem?"

_So that's what it is. _

Hunters and their black and white morality. He was worried that he would have to put him down.

"No." Harry looked outside, tired eyes observing the streams of rain on the glass. Oddly soothing, it was enough to untie the last of the stress around his heart.

"What is an auror?"

Garth was really pushing it, he knew Harry's defences were down, that he was amendable in this state. After letting someone see his more violent side, he felt freer to discuss things like this.

"Lets just say, that there are many types of aurors, in many different divisions. All of us had different functions."

Harry caught Garth looking at him in the rear-view mirror. Large eyes giving him a pleading look. Harry couldn't resist them.

"Just think of us like the law enforcement of the magical world." He excused.

"There are laws?" The hunter queried, his pitch going up due to shock.

"Yes. Very many." Harry mumbled back sleepily, positioning himself in a more comfortable spot to fall asleep.

"What division were you in?"

Harry stared out on to the night behind the windows.

"Similar to the S.W.A.T. you have here in America. I never liked paperwork, nor did I particularly have a head for puzzles."

Garth didn't ask further. He let sleeping dogs, or in this case witches lie.

The phone at his hip started to vibrate, with as little motion as possible; he slid it out and pressed it to his ear.

"Garth? It's Dean."

"What's up man?"

There was a static on the other end, but that was probably due to the bad reception.

"Castiel says for you to bring Witch of the East over here."

Garth chanced a look at Harry in the mirror again. Asleep and appearing harmless, it was difficult to imagine the amount of damage that he caused a few hours ago.

"Why?"

The line went silent for a bit.

"Because that runt is the Master of Death, and we need him here pronto."

* * *

AN: Hope you enjoyed the chapter, I more or less now have this plotted. It's still hazy to be honest. There's supposed to be a line break in the middle, but ffnet is refusing to cooperate.

Writing this one was a little difficult, mainly because of reactions, and tone. Thank you for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

"What I want to know is why he didn't even raise a finger during any of it. He knew what was going on and he kept his mouth shut." Dean pointed at the now secured wizard.

Arms and legs bound to the chair, his spine practically attached to the back of the shortly build piece. It wouldn't be a problem breaking out, if it wasn't for the blasted seal drawn around him. His power was subdued, and with his lack of physical development for strength it wasn't exactly easy to break free. If it was, he would have stripped his restraints and apparated out.

This was just plain humiliating.

"For the record I'm not omniscient. I had no idea what you were doing. Still don't." He chipped in, succeeding with irritating everyone in the room.

Garth was sitting on the arm of lounger, watching the situation. He had tried talking sense into Dean, even with the twenty-four hours still fresh in his mind. He saw what Harry could do and still defended how breaking out the manacles is far-fetched. They could just talk to him like an adult.

Dean sent Harry the most blatant look of irritation he had ever seen to date. He could probably give McGonagall a run for her money, especially if Slytherin managed to beat them in a quddich game.

"You're the Master of Death, and you still gonna play the 'I don't know what you're talking about' game? Come on!"

Harry raised an eyebrow, and leaned in. That angel blabbed on him. If his wings weren't already gone, he would have removed them himself.

"Just because I have some sodding title doesn't entitle me to any territory. "

"Cas?" Dean turned around to small shape on the other couch beside Garth. Castiel raised his head, straightened his posture as if a meerkat alerted to a surprising noise.

"He's not lying." He agreed.

Perhaps not flayed wings. Maybe just mangle him a little.

"I thought you said he was the Master of Death." Dean accused, looking somewhat exasperated by this unwelcome turn of events.

"Master is a dual word; he's simply reached the height of his chosen skill set."

Dean looked less and less surprised.

"And you couldn't have told that to me before Garth had to drag his ass here, and before Sam went insane on setting up the witch trap?"

"Wizard." Harry input the correction for the thirtieth time. Dean just sent him a distasteful glare.

"He is immortal." Castiel offered.

Sam's brow burrowed deeper on his face.

"As in, he can't die immortal, or if someone kills him he comes back?"

"Yes." Castiel affirmed, his eyes never quite meeting Harry's shape. He was either afraid of felt guilty for ratting him out.

_He better be._

"So what does this even mean?" Dean finally asked.

"It means I'm an escape artist." Harry reported, trying to make himself as comfortable in this situation as possible. The chair itself could use some work, after all he had done for them he would have expected at least a cushion beneath his rear.

"Indeed. Problematic pest isn't he?"

Harry's back went ramrod straight. The new voice sent chills down his spine, and everyone in the room seemed to follow the same behaviour pattern. Harry felt a hand on his shoulder; feather light and he could feel the cold creeping from it.

"So what you're saying is that this pest managed to weasel past you?" Dean quipped, his voice shakier than it had been, and body language dropping in assertiveness. Whoever this was, (even though Harry could give a damn good guess) had enough presence alone t quieten the older of the two brothers.

A feat he had yet to see anyone else accomplish.

"Who hasn't these days?" The pale stranger spoke glibly.

It was less than a moment, but Harry felt his hands grow lighter. He lifted his wrists, unshackled he looked in confusion at the visitor, his eyes catching on to the fact that there was no more trap on the floor.

"Hello Harold. Haven't seen you in a while."

It clicked together only then in his head. No longer were they just suspicions. Death was at his side. All he managed however was a weak nod of acknowledgement.

"It's been long enough." Harry admitted, standing to his feet. There wasn't any arrogance in his voice, just a quavering note that he wished he could scrub out. After all, he met Death before as it turned out. At Kings Cross, where he spoke to him on footing that wasn't in any way condescending or hateful. Not to mention he didn't take him, he let him defend those who needed it. _Deserved it._

"So what, now that you have him, are you taking him?" Dean hesitantly spoke, trying to figure out where the events were headed.

"I think not. After keeping him alive for as long as I have, it's counter intuitive to 'off him'." Death spoke, using his skeletal fingers for the air quotations can in hand.

"So what happened to humans being insignificant?" Dean asked, mouth smiling uncomfortably.

Death gave him a pointed look. "Don't get smart with me Dean."

Dean visibly seemed to reprimand himself, and schooled his stance to something more acceptable.

"Harold." Death stretched out a hand to the table, inviting him to sit down. How could he refuse?

Taking a seat on the side, Harry felt himself internally dissolve to the time as he was a student. At least his legs stopped being boneless like Dean's and Sam's seem to have. Garth seemed to lose connection to reality, he caught Harry looking at him and had a mixed expression. One of wonder and concern, the same one he was sending the wizard.

Death sat across from him, the experience was surreal. Harry had a difficult time acclimatizing to reality, or believing it in the first place.

"Listen." Dean started, approaching the seated Horseman.

"We need your help." He finished. Somehow his tongue wasn't as wordy, or loose.

"Why should I? It's yet another angel throwing a fit over an absent father. Except this one has its fingers on a door lock."

Death breathed, his face almost complacent about any of the circumstances.

"Because, everything that's been under heaven's thumb will be on the loose." Sam stressed. Death turned to him, and the larger man looked away.

"That's not my problem."

"It could be." Harry voiced, he himself somewhat surprised that it left his lips. Death let his head loll to the side.

"And why would any of this be my concern?"

"Petulant beings trying to bully you into their plans? Humans are easy, but you wait until the pagans get back into action." Harry responded. Again.

Dean looked like he was the stupor of his life time. Death seemed to consider the factors, but didn't speak on them. He wasn't convinced, or inclined to act in any way supportive of their efforts.

"Just how many gods of death are there?" Garth finally spoke.

"Incalculable." Death replied, slightly peeved at the obvious fact. Overall his face stayed as calm as a winter pond. Somehow deep in all their hearts they knew this approach wouldn't work.

"Why were you protecting the witch anyways?" Dean returned to the original subject that had been circling around in his mind.

Death's sallow skin crinkled as a small smirk played on his sunken features. There wasn't anything pleasant, or unnerving about it. It was somehow neutral, as if it was the way his face sat most of the time and it was returning to its original form.

"Harold James Potter is an investment on my part." He allowed the information.

"For what?" Dean pushed, slowly getting back the confidence he so quickly surrendered.

"That business is between him and I."

Harry's eyes rounded. There was a secret that involved him, which he had no clue about? There's a shocker.

"Mind giving us some privacy?" Harry asked as calmly as possible. His eyes running to Garth who nodded quickly and started to relocate everyone to the lower levels of the compound. The brothers left unwillingly, Sam limping out last, closed the doors to the room. Harry knew that the four would be right outside listening, but didn't go out and push them away.

Although the conversation was incredibly private. Most people got to speak Death once, and usually the endeavor happened in their head.

"Why are you protecting me? I've been shot, poisoned, murdered nearly once a year in the past decade. Yet here I sit."

Death's crane like features softened, from neutrality they formed into amusement.

"Since when did you start caring about the human race?" Harry echoed Dean's sentiment. He never did get an answer to that question.

"Since Ignotus Peverell."

Did everything in his life eventually lead back to those three blasted brothers?

"You are his last living descendant." Death supplied, folding his hand on his lap, and resting his cane against his leg.

"Don't tell me you're sentimental." _Not after your handiwork in my life._

"I'm not. It's a bloodline Harold."

Harry's brow sank, and mouth hung open. "What does that even mean?"

Death's dark orbs bore into his green, Harry's blood ran cold.

"It means, one day I will require my true vessel, and I have no intention of reconstructing you atom by atom."

"True Vessel?"

Death's face was unreadable, it was hard to tell if he relished in explaining the details, or detested it. This was probably on the same level as explaining the fractal dimension to a child. Or why the sky was blue.

"Who better than the boy who lived?"

Harry hesitated, but asked anyway.

"What about who you're wearing now?"

Death shrugged lightly.

"He was a decent choice for the period in question. He's starting to wear out, they all have. In time."

"Was he a wizard as well?" Harry pried. Was magic a necessity for Death?

"Yes." There were no details offered, Harry wasn't about to investigate, mainly because he didn't care as much.

"If I'm your true vessel, why aren't I a walking puppet by now?"

With no response, Harry tried his hand at deducing the answer.

"You need my permission."

Death frowned. "Don't confuse me with an angel Harold. I can claim my place now. I choose not to."

"Why not?"

"Believe it or not Harold; I don't particularly want an unwilling host. You're not ready, you're unfinished. You still harbour emotions about me. When you truly put down your sword, you will be useable. I have no agenda."

Harry's chest heaved.

"Not until I break."

Death nodded, and continued. "If that bacterium didn't find you in Eschborn you would have been mine within a span of a few years." He admitted. "Unfortunately he led you to the Winchesters who could inspire heroism in a vampire."

"What could I do to convince you help the situation with the angels?"

There was a thin pause, it wasn't lengthy, but it felt like it would snap easily.

"Why does it concern you with what happens to the angels?"

Harry's face started to show the anxiety he was feeling in his gut. "Because people will suffer from it. There are things that time has erased from their knowledge, they will be vulnerable, they'll die."

"That's the fate of everything living." Death shrugged. Harry realized his argument was faulty from the start.

"They've forgotten about magic."

"They'll learn." Death scolded him; it was almost parent like how he dealt with his complaints.

"I want to protect them."

Death breathed out unhappily through his nose. Harry guessed this is how the being showed disproval.

"Then do so." He picked up his cane, but Harry started to speak to stop him from leaving.

"What can I do so you agree to help us?"

"Us? Associating yourself quickly, then again you always did have a penchant for groups." Death commented.

"What would it take?"

Death mulled it over for a moment.

"You."

Harry's blood grew cold, and he could hear his heart beating in his ears.

"What?"

"You heard. I'm tired Harold. Tired of being tied to the games of angels, tired of being used by petty gods trying to settle feuds. I can only have enough power to disentangle from them with you."

"So what you're saying is, you want me to be willing."

Death bowed his head shallowly.

Again Harry had the option, him or others. Self-sacrifice wasn't something he wasn't unfamiliar with.

"What would that entail?"

It was pleasing to see that Death looked skeptical of his choice. However the enjoyment didn't last long, the doors were pushed open and Dean rushed through them. His eyes wide and concern written all over. He was a jumble of nerves, and it was more obvious than anything else he had seen on him before.

"Are you serious? You're going to say yes?"

Harry leaned back against his chair with ease for the first time.

"I'm trying to understand, what saying yes means." Harry confessed, looking back at Death with narrowed eyes.

"Don't. It always ends the same. You end up being a meat suit, and you heard what he said. He gets more power, and do you really want-" Dean never finished, Death silenced him with a look.

"It's gradual, my essence mixes with yours. I'm not a thing Harold. I'm energy, a force. My mind doesn't directly replace yours."

"Harry." Garth called out, Harry caught the way worry was scrawled messily on his appearance. He didn't want him to do it. Why, he couldn't fathom – it was the right thing to do. It's not as if anyone had any better ideas. Not to mention this would happen eventually, when he no longer had the power to dissuade the horseman. When he lived so long that he no longer wanted to. With this, the choice almost seemed logical.

Harry reached out a hand in accordance. Death accepted.

It took seconds for the wizard to fall into oblivion, his body slumped, unsteady. Dean's arms stopped its descent to the tile floor. Large hands steadier the unconscious body, leaning him forward on the table. The older hunter was about to give the horseman a piece of his mind when he noticed the lack of one in the room.

"Didn't he say the change would be gradual?"

Sam voiced, approaching his brother.

Dean gave a snort of derision. "Don't these assholes usually lie?"

"Dean, this is Death, he has no reason to do that."

Dean made a face. "They all have a reason. Metatron didn't seem like he had any reason to lie. Maybe Death's tired of Earth? He always did have a bug up his ass about it. Now he's getting his 'true vessel' who knows what kind of shit he'd pull?"

"So what you think Death will go back on his word? Dean, this guy might have no moral compass-"

Dean interrupted his brother. "Oh he might do exactly what he promised, but he never said what he would do after."

Sam was about to present his rebuttal to the opposition when Garth interjected. "Did he always have that ring?" Scratching his stubble, Garth pointed at Harry's right hand. There primly sat the pale ring, right at the base of third finger.

"Shit."

"Bloody hell." Garth jumped at the sudden vocalization, the two brothers weren't all that undisturbed either.

"That wasn't what I was expecting. At all. Hermione, get some butter beer would you?"

"Hermione?"

Harry turned to look at the three, for a moment there he looked like he was ready to bolt. Garth realized that he didn't know where he was. But that look of aggression and fear faded, the memory sank in, and dawned on him of what he had just done.

"Never mind."

Standing up, he brushed himself off. "How long was I out?" Preparing himself for the worst.

"A minute, maybe two. How long did it feel for you?" Sam revealed.

"Longer." That's about as long as they were going to get.

"So what about you? You see any darkness and sorrow? Maybe some dead people?"

Harry's eyes narrowed behind his spectacles. Dean took his prize with stride.

"No. Nothing. Feel fine." Harry brusquely replied.

"Are you sure?" Garth double checked. Harry sent him the same facial expression he did to Dean. It quelled any further questions.

* * *

Minutes stretched to hours, hours stretched into days. There wasn't any change, at least Harry wise. He remained the ray of sunshine that the hunters remembered him as. He'd occasionally zone out, his mind travelling elsewhere, and it took some effort to bring him back, but otherwise it wasn't that much of a change.

In the expanse of the days Harry spent most of his time reading, he knew that Death had duties, but seeing as how no one seemed to make themselves known, he hardly knew what duties those were. There were instances when he felt his mind try to show him where to go. But he couldn't make sense of the images within his head. Nor could he glean much information from them. So he stayed, usually within Garth's company.

Garth shared, rambled and tried to get the wizard to do the same. Not to much avail. Harry stubbornly sat within the confines of the walls he constructed. But he listened to what Garth told him, he found himself enjoying the smaller hunter's company most of all. Sam the skeptic, and Dean the dangerous weren't easy to get along with.

Each one of them had something different to push forward, but the worst of it was the look of pity they gave him when they were convinced he wouldn't catch them.

There were no new powers, the only thing that Harry felt that was different was the bottomless of his power. No matter how far he reached into his reserves to feel for the extremity, he could never really grasp it. He just fell through, constantly falling.

That and the ring.

Things started to change on the third day, when he heard echoing flowing through the room. Next thing he knew, a tall brunette walked through the wall of his room. Harry would never forget the first words that came out of her mouth.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Harry couldn't hold back a self-possessed smirk.

* * *

AN: Hope you enjoyed the chapter, if you have any questions, or concerns tell me them. I'll do my best to reply.  
Thank you for reading.


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